


Ménage à Trois

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2015-09-02
Packaged: 2018-04-18 16:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4711976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary Sue wants a threesome - Napoleon has other ideas!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ménage à Trois

**Ménage à Trois**

By Blondie

 

Ah, the weekend! As an agent for the U.N.C.L.E, there’s nothing I like better than a good staff party and the chance to socialize with my fellow employees without the demands of work raising their ugly heads. And after the fortnight I’d just had, I think a girl’s entitled to a little fun.

I approached the door and flashed the guard my gold I.D. card. “Hi. Mary Sue Bodine,” I informed the sombre-looking mountain of flesh barring my eager way to the celebration. He took the card from me, checking for my name against his list. “Section Two,” I said helpfully, pointing to the highlighted words on the paper. If your name wasn’t on the list and you didn’t have your I.D., you didn’t get past the wall of muscle guarding the door. He gave me a sour look, passed my I.D. back to me and gestured me enter with a brusque nod of his head. “Check in your arms with Benny,” he ordered, before pushing the door open and allowing me access.

I took the small Berretta from my purse and handed it to Benny Brown, another Section Two agent, who gave me one of those pink cloakroom tickets, as calmly as though I was just checking in my coat for the night. Before I could enter the main hubbub of the party, another Section Two agent checked me out with a portable metal detector.

Now, you might think that’s pretty heavy security for a shindig, but when you’re in our line of business, you don’t take risks. This party was for good old Frank Capper. He’d been with the Command for thirty-five years, man and boy, and finally decided to call it a day.

It was just a retirement party, but hell, any gathering had potential and tonight, after returning from a strenuous mission in Shanghai, I was looking for some action of the carnal kind, if you catch my drift. I was wired, hyped-up and horny as hell. Adrenaline can do that to you. You need some kind of release for all that pent-up energy. So, like my esteemed colleague Napoleon Solo, I like to blow off steam with a few bedroom calisthenics.

I know this makes me sound like some kind of slut, but in our line of business, you never know how many tomorrows you have left; you have to live like today was your last.

It very well may be.

So, tonight I was on the prowl. One thing I knew for sure - I wasn’t going home alone, even if I had to dart someone and tie him to the bed post.

Eventually I entered the throng, instinctively found the bar and ordered a vodka martini.

A few drinks later, I checked my watch, holding my wrist out at arms- length to compensate for the distortion in my alcohol-impaired vision. Damn, but I was drunk! One thing you could say about these celebrations, the booze flowed as freely as Niagara Falls.

Everyone was here. Made me wonder what would happen if Thrush ever found out about our little soirées. They could take out half of U.N.C.L.E. New York in one fell swoop, with a well-placed explosive.

Well by this time I was feeling very mellow, and more than a little turned on, after a quick necking session on the dance floor with Carter from Section Five. But Carter was just a boy, kid’s stuff. I wasn’t in the mood for showing him what went where. What I needed tonight was someone with experience. Someone who could match my stamina and appetite, someone who could give me what I needed, no strings attached.

Without too much difficulty, I searched about and found one of my favorite pastimes - Napoleon Solo. It was never too hard to find him - Kuryakin’s blond hair stood out like a beacon, even in the gloom of the subdued lighting, and where Kuryakin was, Solo was sure to be nearby.

I pushed my way through the crowd until I reached them. Unfortunately, they seemed to be claimed already, I could see Napoleon’s hand resting on some skinny blonde’s waist, while Illya listened politely to another bubble-haired blonde standing next to him.   However, as I neared, I realized there was little competition: Sandra and Candace – or Sandy and Candy as the gruesome twosome like to be known. They were the kind of women who perpetuated the myth about blondes being dumb.

As I barged my way into the centre of the group, the simpering smiles on their female companions painted faces, slowly faded. “Hi, guys,” I said cheerfully, intentionally leaving the two women out of the greeting as I smiled at Napoleon and Illya.

Solo grinned, genuinely pleased to see me. “Mary Sue,” he said as he reached for my hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back of my fingers. “I must say, it’s nice to see you out of those fatigues.” The last two times I’d bumped into Napoleon had been during training on the U.N.C.L.E. assault course. “And this color is a definite improvement on khaki. You’re looking very beautiful tonight,” he said, lightly touching the strap of my red dress as his eyes gave me a brief and appreciative once-over. “I’d heard you were on your way back from Shanghai; I wasn’t sure you were going to make it.”

“So I see,” I replied, my gaze sliding distastefully over Candy. “But I’m here now. And I’d like to thank you two girls for keeping my men warm for me. I’ll take over from here,” I said, dismissing them offhand.

Sandy, the more nervous of the two, obligingly moved away from Illya’s side and I slid into the space she left behind, resting a possessive hand on the Russian’s shoulder.

Candace, however, was less intimidated. She threaded her arm through Napoleon’s and stuck her chin out in defiance. “You don’t have any claim on them. You can’t make us leave,” she said, rather bravely I thought.

“Think not?” I left Illya’s side and poked my nose in her face, taking a careful sniff at her perfume. “Mm. I’m willing to bet that’s Chanel No.5 you have in your atomizer.” I leaned a little closer. “I have knockout gas in mine. Strong enough to put a Sumo wrestler out for five hours and leave him with a headache that’d make him think he’d died and gone to hell.”

It was obviously an empty threat - besides, I’d never get away with it with so many witnesses - but I wasn’t going to be beaten by a two-bit clerk. I stepped nearer, resting my hands on my hips as I stared her down. After a few tense moments, her face bloomed scarlet and she turned away, breaking eye contact. I knew I’d won. “Go on,” I hissed at Candace. “Scat!”

She glared at me and I could see her biting down on an angry retort but, luckily for her, her sidekick pulled her away and they disappeared into the crowd to chase up some other poor suckers.

I turned back to Napoleon and Illya, pleased with my little victory.

“That wasn’t very nice,” Napoleon said, with a mildly reproving tone. I knew he wasn’t all that upset; enforcement agents develop a certain kinship that goes beyond petty quarrelling and Candy had merely been a temporary distraction.

“Well, I’m not feeling nice. I’m feeling possessive. I’ve missed you both and besides, I think I’m more entitled to you two than a couple of cold fish from the typing pool.”

“There’s nothing cold about Candy,” Napoleon pointed out.

“Or Sandy,” Illya added, a little disgruntled.

“Hey, why settle for hamburgers, when you can have prime steak?” I said, spreading my arms wide, inviting their inspection. Napoleon’s head tilted to one side, smiling in approval. Even Illya begrudgingly quirked his lips in appreciation.

In turn, I eyed them back. Both men were gorgeous. Napoleon was sartorial elegance personified. Classically handsome, his dark features and coffee-colored, smiling eyes drew women to him like flies to sh-- I mean moths to a flame.

Illya, on the other hand, dressed in a careless manner, his dark clothes chosen to conceal rather than captivate – which of course only made him more attractive. He was cute rather than handsome, in a pretty sort of way, and he too fascinated women, inexorably drawn to his aloofness and air of mystery.

Both men were equally irresistible, in their own unique way, and I was determined to take one of them home with me tonight. So, Napoleon or Illya? The choice was too difficult, with them standing here before me. I wanted them both.

The three of us stood talking, comparing recent assignments and swapping gossip, and all the while half my mind was on the conversation while the other half was weighing up my choices, comparing both options, considering my current needs against what was potentially on offer.

Napoleon and I had been intimate on several occasions and believe me, his reputation is well deserved. Like me, he looked upon sex not just as a pleasurable social activity, but also as a form of release for all that pent-up frustration and energy. When I was willing, he was always available and happy to oblige. Napoleon could write the definitive book on sex. He knew every position and every kink and his ability to tune into a woman’s needs was an uncanny gift most men would kill for.

Illya, on the other hand, was a different kettle of fish. Napoleon told me his partner felt intimidated by sexually aggressive women. Consequently, I’d only managed to coax the blond into bed once, and only then immediately following a stressful mission together. Illya was the antithesis of his partner in everything, including sex: where Napoleon was fun in bed, Illya was serious, seldom speaking except to give instructions. Where Napoleon was spontaneous and unbridled, Illya was methodical and carefully controlled. And though not many people knew it, like myself, he regularly practiced yoga to keep both body and mind in shape. The plus side of this was that he was also an exponent of tantric yoga, and that single time we got together was the most memorable sexual encounter of my entire life. We fucked none stop for four hours. Four hours of intense sensory bombardment, before giving in to the most electrifying and prolonged climax I’ve ever experienced.

Each man had his good points. So the problem was - Napoleon or Illya? Napoleon would be easy to coax but Illya would be a challenge, and one that I felt up to, following my recent conquest over Candy and Sandy.

All I had to decide was, which lucky man would be going home with me tonight? The decision was difficult. So very, very difficult.

Then a most outrageous thought occurred to me. Why choose one over the other? Why couldn’t I have both, in the same bed, at the same time? My heart rate increased at the outrageous thought, sending another rush of adrenaline through my system.

I waited for a lull in conversation and said, “Listen, guys. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

“Well, we had,” Napoleon said, “but you just scuppered those. Why, do you have a suggestion?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, threading an arm through each of theirs and tugging them closer. I inclined my head, indicating they should come nearer and whispered, “I thought the three of us could go back to my place for a little sport.”

Illya’s eyebrow rose in that cute way he has of silently asking a question.

“Contact sport,” I said with a wink, hoping to clarify things.

The light dawned in his beautiful blue eyes and Illya smiled ruefully as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. If you don’t mind, I’ll decline. You know what they say, two’s company, but three’s...”

“A lot more fun,” Solo interjected with a happy grin.   “Come on, Illya, why not? We have the evening free and we’re all consenting adults?”

“The word ‘consenting’ implies agreement by all parties, and I do not. Besides, it only takes two to play the game and I have no intention of standing on the sideline, watching you indulge in your baser instincts while I await my turn.”

“Illya, Illya,” Napoleon said, shaking his head in that condescending way that implied his partner was just too naïve to understand. “This isn’t like baseball. You don’t sit in the dugout waiting for your turn to bat. You all pitch in together.”

Illya sighed. “Don’t you think it will be a little crowded, with the three of us?”

“I have a king-size bed,” I offered helpfully. “With satin sheets,” I threw in for good measure.

“Tempting, but I don’t think so.”

“Would you rather go back to that cold, lonely apartment?” Napoleon asked. Illya frowned. “C’mon,” Napoleon coaxed. “You could relax and have some fun. We could all do with a little fun.”

Illya paused and I thought, for a moment, he might relent, but instead he said, “No. You two go ahead. If I feel the need for some fun, I’ll read a book.”

Napoleon sighed. “I’ve seen your books. Believe me, they’re no fun. Mary Sue and I will guarantee you this will be. Look,” he said, touching his friend’s arm as Illya looked down, studying the liquor in his glass, “I’m just asking you to try it, just this once. You might find you like it. If not, we’ll call it a night, catch a cab to an all-night store and I’ll buy you a book myself. Is it a deal? ”

He was beginning to waver, I could tell. I held my breath as he silently considered Napoleon’s argument.   Then, with a hefty sigh, he shook his head decisively. “No, definitely not,” he said adamantly, tossing the remains of his drink down his throat. I couldn’t hide my disappointment. Neither could Napoleon. He looked at me, pursed his lips and shrugged.

I decided to cut my losses. “Well, how about you? Want to join me for mixed doubles?” I asked Napoleon, sticking to the current vogue for sporty analogies.

Illya shook his head in amusement and turned away to the bar to refill our glasses.

Napoleon glanced at the back of his partner before he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “He’s just playing hard to get. Give me half an hour to get a little more vodka inside him, then call a cab. We’ll meet you outside in thirty minutes.” He winked as Illya turned back, three glasses balanced precariously in his hands.

I accepted the drink, thanked them both and smiled as I turned and walked away. Good old Napoleon. What a game guy. Always willing to please a lady and always happy to experiment. If I told him I wanted to make love in a bathtub full of cream, he’d go out and milk the cow himself. This was going to be an interesting experience, if he could pull it off.

I tried to contain my excitement and had another drink to kill a little time. I glanced at my watch; it was almost time to leave. I headed towards the exit and on my way towards the door, passed Candy and Sandy. Lowering their sights, they’d captured a couple of the geeks from the Research department. I winked at them and wished them luck as I handed over my pink ticket to Benny and collected my weapon.

I called a cab and it arrived ten minutes later, so I waited outside leaning against the yellow taxi for support as the hit of oxygen mixed with the alcohol in my bloodstream, making me a little giddy.

True to his word, Napoleon appeared minutes later, his partner in tow. I pushed away from the cab and gallantly opened the door, ushering my two future playmates inside. I squashed in next to Illya, giving his knee a playful squeeze. His thigh felt warm against my arm, so I left it there.

“Illya,” I said, rubbing my shoulder against his, “I am so glad you changed your mind.”

“Well, Napoleon’s always telling me I should expand my horizons.”

“Oh, I think I can promise you that, if not your horizons, something will expand tonight.”

He chuckled and, relaxed, I let my hand slip down to rest on the inside of his thigh.

 

My apartment was one of those large, bare-bricked rooms in a converted former warehouse. In the centre of the room was a white leather sofa and against the far wall was the king-sized bed, hidden from view behind a decorative oriental screen. The kitchen area, too, was separated only by a room divider. In fact, the only other room in the place was the bathroom.

We entered the apartment and I put on the lamp, while Napoleon slipped off his jacket before heading for the row of bottles on top of the small bar in the corner.

He poured each of us a drink and offered a toast. “For things to come.” I giggled at Napoleon’s pun and tossed the drink down my throat.

Eager to get on with the business at hand, I pulled them both towards the screen hiding the bed. Illya still seemed a little unsure, so I decided to distract him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and planted my lips against his. Under my assault, he quickly began to relax and his hands, resting on my hips, pulled me closer to him. As I ground myself against him, I felt a heat against my back and realized that Napoleon was approaching me from behind. I shivered as his hands stroked along my bare shoulders and down my arms, before insinuating themselves between our crushing bodies to squeeze at my breasts. All the while, his lips sucked and nipped along the exposed skin on my neck.

I can’t adequately describe the sheer eroticism of being sandwiched between two very hard and very masculine bodies. My own private orgy; it was sending my senses into overdrive.

I couldn’t wait. Impatiently I began tugging Illya’s polo shirt off over his head and, taking the hint, he slid his hand around my back and pulled down the zipper on my dress. Napoleon’s hands moved away from my breasts, pushing under the straps to tug the material off my shoulders. The dress slipped off and lingered around my waist for a moment, before dropping to the floor.

Any agent worth their salt knows that it pays to be prepared; I wore no underwear at all.

I was abandoned for a few moments as both men stepped away and began to disrobe. I closed my eyes and listened. Like those new-fangled stereo record players, I was surrounded on both sides by the sound of clothing being hastily removed; the rustle of starched shirt material as it was discarded, the clump of shoes tossed aside, the zzhipp of a belt being pulled free and the snap of elastic as the last vestige of clothing dropped to the floor.

I don’t remember how, but we all ended up tumbling onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and other appendages. Two men, one on either side – it was like being wrapped in a warm, erotic blanket. The heat was astonishing. Napoleon wasted no time, sliding down to occupy his favorite position, between a woman’s legs, while his fingers searched for, and instantly found, that magic button. I bucked at the contact and at the same time, drew Illya’s head down towards my breasts.

The twin-tongue action was driving me wild; Napoleon was one of the few men I knew who could find a woman’s clitoris without the aid of a map and Illya’s tongue and gently nibbling teeth were doing things to my nipples that had them as hard and erect as organ stops. I opened my eyes to watch, the voyeur in me fascinated as always. Napoleon’s face was mostly obscured, secreted in those dark regions between my thighs, but one hand stroked a sensual circular pattern across my belly while his other hand, resting across Illya’s flank, flexed and clenched at the flesh beneath like the paw of a suckling kitten.

I wasn’t sure if Napoleon was aware that he was fondling him this way, but watching him touch his very male partner made me hot. It was a fantasy, having them both here together. Solo was an expert in the kissing department, but then I guess he’d had plenty of practice. The epicurean Napoleon and his self-restrained partner. Another fantasy surfaced as I wondered how Illya would react to Napoleon’s kisses.

I tugged on Solo’s hair, drawing him up along my body until he reached my mouth. I pulled him down for a kiss, long and hard, just the way I like ‘em. Napoleon was almost as famous for his mobile tongue as he was for another part of his anatomy. He was the perfect kisser and I wanted to witness him in action.

Reluctantly, I drew away, eager to set my recently discovered fantasy in motion.

“Kiss him,” I whispered into that hungry mouth. He pulled away, his eyes widening as I glanced meaningfully at his partner, who was obliviously licking his way around my navel.

To my amazement, he didn’t seem shocked or repulsed by the idea. Instead, he smiled, almost gratefully I thought, and planted a quick kiss on my lips before turning to look at his partner. His hand left its place on my belly to slide into that lion’s mane of golden hair. Illya looked up, disturbed in his ministrations, as Solo tugged at the back of his head to draw him closer, and a startled expression crossed his face as Napoleon leaned across and latched onto those pouting lips

At first, I felt the Russian tense and Napoleon pulled slightly away, just far enough to speak. “Mary Sue wants us to put on a show. You don’t want to disappoint her, do you?” he whispered as he stared intently into those blue eyes, wide with astonishment.

There was a long pause as their eyes locked and, suddenly, I felt strangely alone. Napoleon’s hand slipped forward and gently caressed Illya’s face, his thumb rubbing softly along a cleanly shaven cheekbone. “Illya?” he whispered. Illya remained silent. “Trust me?” Napoleon asked.

Illya seemed to be considering the consequences of the act. I suddenly realized the position I’d put him in. Napoleon was his partner and friend, but more pertinently, he was his superior. This was adding a new dimension to their relationship that could be problematic at best, catastrophic at worst.

I could almost hear the mental debate and, after a few tense moments, he seemed to come to a decision. He relaxed into the palm, smiling coyly back at Solo. “Always.”

Napoleon let loose the breath he was holding and leaned forward. I watched as their mouths met, just above my breasts. Napoleon’s eyes were shuttered with tightly controlled passion; Illya’s eyes, wide with surprise, drifted closed as he melted into the kiss. I rested a hand on each head, letting them know I was still there.

There’s something stunningly erotic about the sight of two men kissing, something primal and raw.   I saw the kiss deepen from a slow, gentle exploration to something more demanding and urgent.

Napoleon began to slide over me. The heat from his skin was intense and the weight of his body pressing me against the satin sheets was arousing. My legs parted, tempting him inside as I felt his hard erection slip between my upper thighs, grazing tantalizingly close to the opening to my body. It skimmed along my thigh, leaving a wet trail of pre-seminal fluid, and then - it was gone, as he passed over me, oblivious to my invitation. His momentum carried him over and across to the other side until he came to rest atop Illya, his mouth never having once left his partner’s.

I was cold without my two bed warmers. I snuggled in closer in an effort to join in the action, stroking along Napoleon’s bare back and relishing the feel of his sweat-slicked skin. His light cologne was now replaced by the strong smell of male musk that went straight to my head, like good champagne.

While my hand played along his shoulders, I sat back to watch.

I’d been on the receiving end of Napoleon Solo’s technique; now I had the chance to see him in action, as an observer, somewhat detached from the proceedings.

Too detached!

I tried to muscle back in on the act, kissing my way along Illya’s shoulder while I stroked along Napoleon’s back, slipping my hand lower to give his ass a quick squeeze. I was getting no response from either one of them.

“Hey,” I whispered in Napoleon’s ear, trying to attract his attention as I gave the fleshy lobe a playful nip. As I sucked on his ear, I squeezed his buttocks but he didn’t react. I tried to insinuate a hand between their two bodies, trying to find the twin objects of my desire, but the task was impossible. They were pressed so tightly together, a crowbar couldn’t separate them, and my attention to Napoleon’s known sensitive spots was going unheeded.

I pulled back and looked at them, watching as Solo tacitly investigated and caressed the skin beneath his fingers as they continued to kiss. It was a tentative exploration of previously uncharted regions, not the sure and knowledgeable advance on familiar terrain. This was the first time he’d touched his partner this way, I was certain of that. Napoleon was gently stroking, carefully bringing his partner to arousal, as though Illya was a virgin bride on their wedding night.

The marathon kiss ended as Napoleon slowly pulled away to gaze down at his partner with a look of awe: Illya looked dumbstruck. It was an expression I never expected to see on the detached Russian. That time I’d bedded him, he’d kept his countenance carefully under control, even at the peak of orgasm.

It was a strange moment, this pause for breath, as if time stood still for a few seconds and the three of us remained frozen, unmoving in this intimate tableau. Then Napoleon stroked a hand lovingly over Illya’s brow and leaned back down to resume his oral exploration of the body beneath him.

Somehow, this wasn’t the steaming hot, no-holds-barred encounter I’d imagined in my fantasy.

Then I realized, with earth-shattering clarity, that Napoleon wasn’t fulfilling my fantasy at all. He was fulfilling his own! No wonder the devious dog had been so keen to persuade his partner into participating. This was for his benefit, not mine!

“Guys?” I whispered, leaning forward again to swipe my tongue along Napoleon’s neck. “Hello?” It was no good. It was as though the entire universe had shrunk to a small bubble surrounding them, until they believed they were the only two who existed.

Moving away, I gave them a little space as Napoleon continued to mouth his partner’s chin, moving down his neck and collar bone, before descending the chest towards the rosy halos that encircled twin nipples.

I remembered when I had sucked that hard little nub of flesh into my mouth. Illya hadn’t liked it; some men don’t. But now, as Napoleon’s tongue moved down his breast and swirled around the peaked nipple, he hissed in pleasure, and when Napoleon drew that tiny sensitive organ into his mouth, Illya nearly arched off the bed. It struck me that Napoleon’s lips were the same deep rose color as Illya’s nipples, giving them the appearance of being joined at the flesh at this point.

Again, I recalled my previous encounter with the Russian, watching Napoleon’s tongue take the same route to his goal that mine had taken. I remembered the taste of Illya’s flesh, salty with the sweat of his passion; the twitch of hard muscle reacting to the tickle of my tongue; but most of all I recall the texture of his skin, smooth and hairless, with the occasional raised ridge of scar tissue. I mapped most of his body with my mouth, that night. I never expected to have the opportunity again.

And I’m not sure I’ll have it now. Napoleon seemed to be hogging all the action.

It would seem, with my bizarre request, I’d opened Pandora’s Box and now all I could do was sit and watch as Napoleon took possession of his partner.

And possession it was; every inch of him, every hidden cranny was touched, tasted, conquered and made his: fingers, elbows, navel, thighs. His tongue left a glistening trail behind as it quartered Illya’s torso, left to right, right to left, slowly making his way down, but always avoiding that beautiful ivory tower, standing proud amongst a bed of auburn-blond curls.

He licked from one hip to the other, then down his thigh, along his calf, across the instep until he reached his toes. Illya had delicate, almost feminine, feet for a man and Napoleon stroked them as lovingly as he would a lover’s face, before sucking one of the toes into his mouth, as though he were sucking a Popsicle. After a moment’s attention, the toe slipped free and he began to ascend back up on the opposite leg, instep to calf, calf to thigh, thigh to hip. I saw Illya’s erection twitch in anticipation when Napoleon’s breath blew across the soft curls surrounding its base.

Illya seemed unable to move or reciprocate, mesmerized by Napoleon’s bold assault. His body glittered with sweat and his breath puffed in and out of his lungs in short gasps. Solo gathered up the hard shaft in his hand and Illya’s breathing stopped altogether as Napoleon looked up into his face.

There was such intensity in that mutual gaze, as though a stream of thought passed between them, unheard by the outside world. Then Napoleon looked back at the prize in his hand and slowly his head dipped lower until the pale cock disappeared between his lips, one rigid inch at a time.

Illya whimpered, as though this were torture – and maybe it was. He’s never struck me as the affectionate type and, somehow, I think Solo’s gentle lovemaking was a painful thing for him to endure. Overt emotion was a weakness and Napoleon was tenderly piercing his way through that hard shell surrounding his soul.

Illya trembled and shook, for once unable to control himself as Napoleon’s lips began to slide up and down his cock while the manicured fingers of one of Solo’s hands squeezed and rolled the balls beneath. Napoleon’s other hand tugged at his own cock, matching the pace and rhythm he’d set with his mouth.

Suddenly, Illya’s hands clutched desperately at Napoleon’s hair, holding him in place as he gasped and shuddered his way to orgasm with a passionate cry he couldn’t repress. Napoleon waited patiently for the quivering to subside, resting his face against Illya’s belly before bringing himself to completion with his own hand. And when he came, he came calling Illya’s name.

There was a charged pause as Napoleon lay still a moment to regain his breath, then slowly he crawled up Illya’s body, planting a row of kisses back along the route he’d taken earlier as he whispered soft, calming words in the Russian’s own language. He reached Illya’s mouth and initiated a repeat performance with another deep kiss.

It was a side of Napoleon I’d never seen before in bed, this tender but intense display. I realized that I was ‘surplus-to-requirements’ and decided to give them their privacy. I was no longer a voyeur; I was an intruder.

I decided to leave them in peace and allow them to consummate this new phase of their partnership alone.

I quietly slipped off the bed - not that they’d notice anyway – and opened an ottoman where I kept my clean bedding.

I picked up a spare pillow and Aunt Maud’s patchwork quilt, intending to settle on the sofa, but then Napoleon began to groan rather vocally and Illya started calling to a God he didn’t believe in. It was obvious I’d never get any peace in here. Besides, despite the fact that I no longer shared the bed, I still felt like an interloper.

With a sigh, I hauled the quilt over one arm and headed for the bathroom. Sounds strange, I know, and I really don’t want to go into details right now, but it’s not the first time I’ve slept in a tub. Being petite has its advantages.

I was still a little frustrated, though, now my plans for the evening had gone badly awry. Oh, well. How does the saying go? “A girl’s best friend is her right hand!” I held up the appendage and gazed fondly at my trigger finger, glad that it was exercised on a regular basis. “Just you and me, kiddo,” I murmured with more than a trace of disappointment

I woke up at four o’clock with a painful crick in my neck - bathtubs are not conducive to a good night’s sleep. I needed to stretch out. I opened the bathroom door to the sound of silence. I hadn’t heard them leave, but then U.N.C.L.E. agents are known for their stealth. I used that training now, to creep out of the bathroom and over to the screen. I poked my head around and waited for my eyes to adjust to the gloom. They still lay there, sleeping the sleep of the satiated, with Illya twined around his partner like honeysuckle round a vine. Even in an unconscious state, Napoleon wore a half smile as he tightened his arms around the blond.

I couldn’t disturb them, they looked so sweet together. I settled on the sofa, now I knew they were peacefully sleeping.

When I awoke in the morning, they were gone.

 

At lunch, the next day, I saw the pair standing in line in the commissary.

How strange. To the unknowing eye, nothing had changed. As usual, Illya was loading up his plate as though he were eating for a party of five, while Napoleon flirted shamelessly with the guileless young girl behind the counter. But there was a subtle closeness about them, now; their shoulders lightly touched as they stood side-by-side, furtive glances passed between them, so brief as to be barely noticeable. These tiny clues could only mean one thing.

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to test the waters. I wandered over and tweaked their respective ears.

Napoleon turned with a huge grin on his face. “Mary Sue. How’s the hangover?”

“Pounding nicely, thank you. I must say, you two don’t look any the worse for wear,” I commented. Napoleon looked as dapper as usual. Illya looked like his suit had been pressed under the front wheel of a steamroller.

Nope, on the outside, nothing much had changed.

“We’re suffering inside,” Illya replied dryly.

I pointedly eyed Mount Everest on his plate. “Well, you’d never notice. Are you expecting a famine?”

“Illya’s a growing boy,” Napoleon said. “He needs plenty of fuel for all that, ah…energy he burns off.” Illya’s eyes narrowed on him as a slight flush blossomed on his cheeks.

Napoleon just grinned as he glanced around, checking nobody was within hearing distance. “Um, Mary Sue? I apologize if we kicked you out of bed last night.”

I shrugged. “S’fine. Listening to that dripping faucet all night helped me get to sleep. Like counting sheep, you know?”

He winced. “And I’m sorry that your plans for the evening didn’t quite work out as you intended.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I replied, waving away his concerns with a flick of the wrist. “Another time, maybe?”

“Maybe,” he replied, noncommittally.

I stepped closer and as I smoothed his lapels for him, suggested, “Well, I’m free tonight, if you’re looking for a little action.”

I saw his smiling eyes flicker towards his partner. “Actually, I already have plans for tonight.”

Of course he did, but just to rub it in, I turned to Illya and playfully asked, “How about you?”

He opened his mouth to reply but Napoleon stepped in quickly, saying, “He has plans, too.”

“I do?” Illya asked, bemused.

“You do,” Napoleon replied firmly. Illya looked at me with no remorse whatsoever as he gave an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, well,” I said, feigning disinterest, “If you need anyone to make up a trio….”

“I think that from now on, we’ll be sticking to duets.” He leaned forward, placing a delicate but friendly kiss on my forehead. “Thank you,” he said with a wink before shepherding his partner off into a quiet corner of the commissary.

I watched them move away, unsure exactly what he was thanking me for, and turned to look for another distraction.

Ah! Across the room, Sandy and Candy were sitting at a table, flirting with Mark Slate. I rubbed my hands together and prepared for battle.

I’d just lost two playmates today, but I’d be damned if I’d lose another!

 

**THE END**


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